


A Rare Gift

by RedFive



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedelia is the Best, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consentacles, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal is a Diva, Hints of Dark!Will, Manipulative Hannibal, Murder Husbands, POV Will Graham, Petty Reckonnings, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Smut, but there is porn, how do I keep ending up here, i swear again it's not tentacle porn, mentions of Frederick and Bedelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-06 13:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/pseuds/RedFive
Summary: During a dinner party among all their friends, Hannibal gives Will another rare gift that Will definitely did not want.





	A Rare Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [houseofcannibals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofcannibals/gifts).



> Belated birthday present for @cannibalhouse who definitely was not asking for this, but is getting it all the same. ;-) 
> 
> Thanks to @wolftrapqueen27 for betaing!

Hannibal waltzed into the bedroom smelling of honey and clover. It was a new scent, softer than the expensive Parisian colognes of their former lives. Will liked it very much although he would never tell Hannibal that. Withholding these small praises was one of the few ways he knew how to leash the beast. He had learned others since the Fall, some more pleasurable than others. Some were soft. Some were mean-spirited. But all were done out of love. The town of Florence, Oregon was too small to sustain a killer of Hannibal’s largess so Will created these little cat and mouse games to protect him by keeping him distracted. Games like the scent game. As long as Hannibal never guessed which scents Will preferred, he would keep experimenting, which kept him occupied often enough to mitigate his other urges...usually.

They’d only had to move twice now when investigations into a few missing people came too close to the mark, which was pretty good all things considered. Will was content that Hannibal was mostly stimulated by their new lives together. He might have been shit as a lawman; being a secret psychopath himself, but he had finally found his calling—as a babysitter. 

But every so often the old Hannibal chewed through the love knots that kept him bound, at whose expense was anyone’s guess, and tonight Will was furious with him for it. A line had been crossed that Will couldn't look past. Hannibal would be lucky if he and his stupid scent bottles didn't end up on the front lawn by morning or buried six feet under.

A damp towel hung around his husband’s waist, purposefully loose and messy. Tellingly, his hair was already dry and swept forward in the style that Will preferred, which he would only have done if he was expecting to get some tonight. Not everyone would have taken the time, but God forbid Hannibal Lecter look anything less than perfect while they were fucking. Pretentious ass.

In contrast, Will wore yesterday's nightshirt intending to weaponize Hannibal’s olfactory sense against him. He hadn’t brushed his hair or his teeth. Nor had he brushed the dog hair off the duvet because **_two_ ** could and play at this game. Since Hannibal liked the classics so much, let's see what he thought about Lysistrata. 

"Well, I think that went well,” Hannibal said, oblivious to the amount of trouble he was in. “Did you _enjoy_ yourself tonight?”

It was a good thing Will had already undressed. Had he his pocket knife on him, the temptation to gut Hannibal might have been too great. As usual, Hannibal hadn't done anything overly wrong, but  it was the way that he said “ _enjoy_ ” that told Will everything he needed to know about the evening.

In the beginning, it had been difficult to suss out whom Hannibal’s intended victim was. Everyone present had been made uncomfortable by his performance at the dinner table. But now Will knew with certainty that Hannibal had specifically been messing with him. For what reason, Will couldn't even begin to guess. As for the specific line of attack that Hannibal had chosen, Will didn't **_want_ ** to guess.

"I'm not speaking to you." Will reminded him while he sat in bed reading. 

"I abided by all your rules,” Hannibal said and because he still thought he was going to get his dick wet tonight, moron that he was, he drew the curtains back to allow moonlight into the room. Diva that he was, Hannibal liked to fuck under natural light and most amorous in the early mornings when the sunrise stole into the bedroom like a burglar and gently warmed their bodies to wakefulness.

But for Will, nothing compared to those three magical nights a month when the moon was full and had reached its perfect zenith to play voyeur to their lovemaking. During the day, the decor didn't look like much. Stark white walls and white furniture were complimented only by the barest touches of color and ornamentation. The room felt vaguely nautical without leaning into the theme too hard with no diving bells or seashells in sight. When they moved in, Hannibal had been obedient to Will’s requests and reigned in his theatrical nature when furnishing their home. But at night, Hannibal’s skill as an artist revealed itself and the room took on the appearance of a winter palace. The pastel blues and white horn accents of the bedroom were radiant in the moonlight. It was a perfect balance of their two temperaments, and an appropriate room for their marriage bed.

The lights went out next as Hannibal circled the bed like a lion and turned off the lamps one by one. "I didn't kill anyone, and I didn't serve our guests anything from the “special” menu,” he insisted. "I have no designs to visit any of them, although David would deserve it. Gossiping about his wife like that while she is away in the Dakotas, what a wretched man. I am positive he is sleeping with his secretary," he huffed. Then Hannibal looked away and stared intently at the moon as if a thought had just occurred to him. Will could see the cogs in his brain churning. If he had no plans before to turn David into a clam chowder, he definitely did now.

Will would worry about that tomorrow. For now, he wanted peace and some good old fashion payback. Hannibal hated nothing more than being ignored, which Will continued to do by pretending to read Chilton’s latest bestseller. _The Devil’s Brides,_ which included a foreword by Bedelia Du Maurier.

_Hannibal Lecter and I were drawn together by our love of the world and the hedonistic pleasures to be found therein. Our days together were full of passion. But it was at night where he found his true self and a companion that completed him in ways I dared not follow._

_We were kindred spirits beating in separate breasts. Will Graham, however, was an extension of that second self, and, we all know how that turned out._  

_They are one and the same, Hannibal and Will, a wolf with two heads. It was foolish of me to have ever thought I might satisfy all of Hannibal, and far luckier that he loved me as well as he did despite his nature. I might not have survived the wrath of Will Graham otherwise._

_‘Well fuck you too, Bedelia.’_ For the umpteenth time, Will regretted leaving Bedelia with even one leg to stand on, and realized with chagrin that at some point “pretending to read” had turned into reality.

But Will had every right to be angry. It had actually been his idea to spare her life, a decision he now deeply regretted. He should have known she'd find a way to blame everything on him rather than accept any of the responsibility herself. It wasn’t his idea to run away with Hannibal to Florence after all! But to hear her tell the tale, Will had all but driven them to the airport after first betraying his "lover" to Jack.

Hannibal was always getting passes like that in Bedelia’s media appearances to such an extent that even the general public believed it now. Hannibal had become a romantic Byronic figure in the years since his capture and escape. The product of a tortured childhood and a mind too bright for his own good, while Will had become a monster. And not just a monster, but the monster of monsters since he had willingly chosen this life, according to Bedelia.

Will snorted, which had surely inflamed Hannibal's irritation even further. Hannibal preferred it when he was the only source of conflict in Will's life, jealous beast that he was.

Oh yeah, Will had chosen alright—chosen a life of indigestion and constant strife. _'Get over yourself already,'_  he thought and could not say with certainty whether he was addressing Bedelia or himself, so he skipped ahead to chapter one where Frederick took over, which was always his favorite POV anyway.

 _The Devil’s Brides_ was their second collaboration, which followed Bedelia’s own harrowing account of recent events in _My Last Leg._ They were well matched, Frederick and Bedelia. Was there anyone alive more sanctimonious and awful than that pair? The question was rhetorical, but the answer was prowling in Will’s periphery preparing to make his move. 

The mattress shifted as Hannibal settled onto it and crawled across the divide to Will’s side of the king-sized bed.

Meanwhile, Frederick was explaining at length, Hannibal’s many reasons for framing him following Will’s release. His argument hinged on the opinion that he was the only one smart enough to see through their plots and ergo the greatest threat to Hannibal’s plans to seduce his former patient. It wasn't even an original thought. Will was sure he had read some version of this chapter in literally every single one of Frederick’s books, but Will liked that about Frederick. He was consistent and reliable in both word and deed, and far less overbearing than **_some people_ ** in his field of study.

Beside him, Hannibal coughed. It was a dry, half-hearted exhale meant to attract notice instead of clearing his throat, but Will kept reading anyway. He counted on having another five minutes of peace before Hannibal started stabbing things.

The one annoying part about Frederick’s version of events is how they always reduced Will’s role to that of chaste damsel under pursuit. No one ever gave him credit for being the seductor in their relationship. It was a pity too. He had been so good at it! The clothes, the haircut, and then that stint at the museum with Randall Tier’s body—his plan had reduced Hannibal to putty in his hands, and if not for Hannibal’s Kryptonian sense of smell, he, Hannibal, and Abigail would all be relaxing on the French Riviera right now. 

“Will! You are being unreasonably rude!”

“Don't care.”

“What on earth have I done now?”  Hannibal asked with a performative sigh that betrayed his amusement.

"You know what you did,” Will said and turned the page.

"Educate me.” Hannibal commanded and sat down across Will’s legs. Even with the towel around his waist, Will could see that Hannibal was half-hard already, which only served to make Will angrier. Presumptuous jerk.

"See! That! That is EXACTLY what you did! You **educated** our dinner guests with a lecture on the historical origins of TENTACLE PORN, HANNIBAL.”

Hannibal didn’t even have the decency to refrain from smirking as Will laid into him with his accusation. “I’m supposed to be a professor,” Hannibal said as if that excused him. He was supposed to be a psychiatrist back in Baltimore too, and look how well that turned out for everyone.

“OF FRESHMAN ENGLISH at a community college! We are supposed to be laying low and acting like an average suburban couple. Vanilla. Boring. I knew it was a mistake to let you throw a dinner party. You just couldn't help yourself, could you!? And don't get me started on the table setting! Where did those dishes even come from?”

Will’s book was taken out of his hands and tossed across the room, forcing Will to look up into his husband’s face. Hannibal’s eyes were alight with mischief, and Will was no longer as sure as he had been about where this night would end. “Average suburban couples are anything but vanilla. Believe me, I've counseled enough of them."

"You are unbelievable,” Will said and threw his hands in the air.

"And you protest too much.” Hannibal grasped Will by the wrists and pinned his arms to the headboard so he could not escape the kiss Hannibal planted on his lips.

But Will kept his lips pressed tightly together, refusing to acquiesce. However, Hannibal’s persistent licking and nibbling eventually coaxed him into participation. Will parted his lips and let the cannibal have free rein of his mouth. Hannibal, damn him, didn't even seem to mind that his breath still smelled of scallions and peppers because Will had not brushed his teeth.

When they finally broke for air, Hannibal released Will and buried his nose into his neck. “Don't think I didn't notice how you reacted when I recounted the tale of the fisherman's wife as one of the origins of the medium."

Will was glad Hannibal was not looking directly at him because he had turned rather pink in response.  "You're imagining things,” he said insistently—perhaps too insistently.

Hannibal lay his mouth against Will's throat and slurred his words against the pulse point. "I'm not, and you know it. I've always been able to tell when you were aroused."

That was half-true anyway. The reason Hannibal could always tell was because he was usually the instigator. It wasn't some big secret or psychological gift. Basic anatomy and the laws of friction gave the game away every time.

“Stop it,” Will said when he felt Hannibal pull the covers down far enough to sneak his hand up beneath his nightshirt.

"Oh?" Hannibal teased one nipple between his index finger and thumb until it grew hard and erect. Then he politely withdrew his hand with a curt “as you wish.”

Goddammit. Now he was hard and horny too. It seemed that for each trick Will had learned about controlling Hannibal, Hannibal had learned two of his own.

Will sat up, wiggled out of his shirt, and guided Hannibal’s hand to his crotch. “No, stop doing the other thing. You’re messing with my head again. That’s why you brought out those plates. That’s why the impromptu lecture. I don’t how you knew I had this feti—nevermind,” he said cutting himself off before he could say something he’d regret.

“This _“what,”_ Will?” Hannibal said and offered the heel of his palm for Will to grind against. “What has gotten you so _bothered_ tonight?”

“I didn't...look, I swear I’ve never thought about it before tonight. I just...guck, it was the fucking plates okay!? Tell me how you knew or so help me God, _I will kill you.”_ Will grabbed a handful of Hannibal’s hair and pulled it, forcing the cannibal to look directly into his eyes.

It was Hannibal’s turn to shudder as Will knew he would. He fucking loved it when Will pushed him around, and he wasn't the only one. Will luxuriated in the feeling of Hannibal's earlier smugness bleeding into him and becoming his own.

“A happy accident, I promise. The octopus is an erotic animal in form and mythology. I merely thought it would be fun to cook with and might give me the opportunity to make our guests feel uncomfortable. My aim was not to taunt you with something I had no inclination of.”

Will looked Hannibal in the eyes and scowled when he saw only the truth reflected in them. “You really didn't know?”

“On my sister’s honor, but I confess I am delighted by the mutual discovery. Tentacle porn can be very erotic, Will. This could be a new adventure for the both-”

“Shut up,” he snapped. There was not enough blood going to his brain to determine whether Hannibal was sincere or not. “Not another word. I mean it, Hannibal. I’ll hurt you! And I'll keep hurting you until you wish you had died on that cliff."

Will pulled Hannibal down on top of him until he was covered and pinned beneath Hannibal’s broader frame. They rutted against each other, knowing neither could finish without more friction, both physically and verbally, but they both enjoyed the ache that built between them in the interim. Will slapped Hannibal on the ass when he felt ready and laughed at the indignant yelp that burst from his noble husband's chest. The next few minutes were filled with awkward shuffling as covers were thrown back, towels and boxers discarded, and the necessaries like pillows and lube positioned.

Hannibal knelt between Will’s legs opening Will up with surgical efficiency. He only had two fingers in him, but the way he was wiggling them around was clearly suggestive of their previous conversation. Will gripped the sheets in his fists and tried not to think about the fucking plates again, but the lewd pattern on the porcelain kept leaping to mind. 

“My Aunt Murasaki owned some lovely woodblock prints of the fisherman's wife. I'm sure Chiyo would be happy to fetch them for us from the Lecter Estate. Would you like that, Will?" Hannibal asked conversationally.

Will blushed and covered his face with his elbow. This was embarrassing. Tentacles. Jesus. He didn't even know he had this kink until tonight!?!

“Will?” 

Will nodded shyly as Hannibal’s ministrations pulled him into a more subdued and pliant mental state. 

Hannibal smirked at him from above, shifting into a more dominant role. "That’s not how this works. You have to ask for it,”

"Fine. Call her. Tomorrow.” Will panted. He’d seen ukiyo-e prints similar to the ones Hannibal's aunt must have possessed. They two in their current home, which hung in Hannibal’s office, were of pastoral snow-capped mountains. They were nothing like the wild, uninhibited seascapes Hannibal was undoubtedly offering, but Lady Murasaki’s would be of equally fine caliber, brightly colored and...all those arms. 

Hannibal leaned forward and set his mouth against Will’s neck. Will braced himself for teeth as was Hannibal’s usual MO, but Hannibal had something else planned. The line of small sucking kisses Hannibal placed along his neck and shoulder were meant to bruise in a distinctive pattern, like suckers of a tentacle. It was torture. It was bliss.

A surprising whine escaped his lips as Hannibal continued to wriggle inside him. “Oh God!” Will cried out, unable to keep his mind from conjuring certain images any longer. “Hannibal, can I finish like this? Just...oh God, do that again. Don’t stop!” 

"Of course!" Hannibal said glibly. "One last question though, dearest, where would you like them hung?" His tone was subdued and unconcerned by Will's thrashing or apparent ecstasy.

Will knew the perfect spot already. In fact he could see it from where he lay, an empty wall over Hannibal’s left shoulder, next to the bathroom, where he could look at them from his back if he ever wanted to. “The bedroom, you prick, but you knew that already.”

“I did, but you know how much I love to hear you beg.”

That was it. That was the last straw! In the morning, Will vowed he would piss on Hannibal’s favorite italian loafers and blame it on the dogs...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Here are the links to [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Red5WritingBy/status/978394319240523782) and [Tumblr](http://redfivewritingby.tumblr.com/post/172287852042/a-rare-gift-by-redfive-for-houseofcannibals) if you'd like to share this story with others.
> 
> If you'd like to read some of my older work in a similar vein (salty Season 4 murder snark), I recommend unto you the [Nothing Sweeter](https://archiveofourown.org/series/519910) series.


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